


Dream Time is My Life Line

by Regret Me (MythicObsessions)



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, Dark, Don't question it okay, Drugs, M/M, Suicide, Triggers, mention of self harm, pill/med abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 16:31:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5547401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MythicObsessions/pseuds/Regret%20Me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A life like a dream.</p><p>Third Pov LIMITED. Its mostly Pete though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fix Me Up, Call Me A Winning Prize. Ship Me Off With Crazy Lies.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thehumanrhythim](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=thehumanrhythim).



> Okay, so fucking what, I still want her. I still LOVE her! Fuck if i can do anything about it.

There were things no one should ever talk about. Repression fucking sucks but it exists and there's a reason for it.  
But there are things. Things you just shouldn't say or bring up or fucking use as an insult.  
Pete couldn't stand the thought of starvation, would cringe when his parents used that to make him eat his dinner. When he was ten he started savings bits and portions of his meals, putting them in baggies and hiding them away so he culd give it to the poor starving children. It never turned out well.   
Mold, rot. His mother screaming and yelling saying he couldn't hide food in his room like that. He kept doing it anyway. He was thirteen when he stopped hiding food and started saving his lunch money, skipping meals at school, to donate to charities.  
There were things he never got shouting distance to when he spoke to his therapist once a month.  
Things like his weight, something he despised. Things like the candle and lighter in his bottom drawer or the puddle like burn scars on his stomach and thighs. Things like the pretty little lines that criss-crossed on his wrists or the slightly dull, redish scissors under his bed. Things that made him shudder and clutch his hands into fists when anyone else mentioned it.  
When Patrick strolled into his life his long, long list of things, things never to touch, a box labeled "No." in the back of his mind, changed. Suddenly he'd spend late nights curled up on a slightly damp bed whispering the ins and outs of suicide by overdose. To a Seventeen year old no less. Mrs Stump had a way with words and would manage to convince Pete to "Stay for dinner, sweetheart, there's plenty for everyone."   
Suddenly the bottles in his bathroom cabinet looked like a promise. Suddenly the scissors weren't sharp enough, or maybe his will to push down and slide had dried up.   
Patrick, this soft, bubbly kid, with his sweater vests and trucker hats, had somehow fixed him. Fixed his broken heart.  
Except, he was broken from the start.


	2. Tie Me Up, Let Me Be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I were allowed to say half the things I think. I think life might be easier that way.

"I love you."  
Pete couldn't breathe.   
Whether it was a confession or a statement or what, Pete didn't quite know. He did, though, know that it was true. How the words didn't stick in his month like lies or leave bitter after tastes on the back of his throat. It was true.  
"I love you." He repeated, smiling wide at the realization. "I love you, I love you. Patrick. I love you."  
Patrick just laughed, patted Pete's chest a little and tugging at his hat to pull it down over his blushing cheeks.   
Pete could admit that but not act on it. Instead he laughed and hopped out of Patrick's bedroom window with a wave and a promise to be back later.  
Later turned out to be three weeks after he said it. Told Patrick how he felt.   
It was less than pleasant because, ow. Everything already hurt and Patrick smacking him like that wasn't helping.   
"Fuck you. " Patrick hissed, "Fuck you, Wentz. Saying that shit and then running off to pop pills and crash your fucking car. Fuck you."  
See, that. That he probably deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Third day of physical therapy. My chest is killing me...


	3. Guns Aimed High, The Parade Is Out Tonight.  Line Us Up, Load The Bullets,Throw Caution To The Wind And Take Lives So I Won't Sin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I get this weird feeling, like someone is watching me all the fucking time. I wish there was a pill to make me stop thinking about you. I want you to watch me.

Patrick was pale. So pale. Like freshly cleaned hospital beds or pain meds. Pete would hold him, his legs, his neck. He bite down and suck until color stained Patrick's too-pale skin.   
He tasted like chocolate. Pete would have found that more weird had he not gotten his hair washed the night before with Patrick's coco shampoo.   
Pete could easily become addicted. What with the sounds Patrick would make. Moans so sweet and beautiful like choir music except blissfully sinful.   
He'd beg Pete.  
"More, faster, mhmm Pete, just like that."   
Pete would revel in it. He really could become addicted to Patrick. Give him time and he probably will. He just has that kind of personality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last thing I remember is seeing him cry and then all this fucking white. Hospitals, stale lemon smelling houses. Freshly baked hearts being sold at theend of the road. I won't be welcome home for awhile after what I did.

**Author's Note:**

> For Anne. I fucking hate you because I can't stop loving you.


End file.
